


Flocking Birds

by Chaifootsteps



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Alien Biology, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, More fun times from Castle Do Whatcha Feel., Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Public Sex, Riding, young skeksis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaifootsteps/pseuds/Chaifootsteps
Summary: SkekSil and SkekMal's first time together. Involves intoxicants, an audience, and sautéed insect parts, as any first time should.(For SkekMal.)
Relationships: skekMal/skekSil (Dark Crystal)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	Flocking Birds

The castle has never been home to you. Not in any of the ways that count.

Still, it's not uncommon that you should come in from the forest even when the Emperor has no need of you. In fact, you would argue, it's as natural as water.

Natural that their presence brings you some comfort...the scent of their feathers and the warmth of their bodies, and even their loudness and foolishness. Natural that you should be drawn to eat with them, sleep in a heap with them, chase threatening fauna away from their castle walls. It's innate, some part of your very being that's greater than the sum of you. After all, Peliffs migrate when the weather turns damp in the autumn ninet, and a felli-felli deprived of its flock will wither and die, and so you too return to the place where you first opened your eyes to Thra, and the ones who were standing all around you when you did.

(Of course, nature surely has something to do with why you're careful to time it to when the Skeksis aren't entertaining anyone but themselves. Why you're even more careful to time it to when skekAyuk is serving humming beetle legs, slapped around the pan with butter and wine.)

It's an animated evening, for sure. The weather is changing, the days growing longer, the first nights when weather permits opening the window – the start of the second spring ninet they've ever experienced, but enough for them to feel the hum of life about to burst through. At a time like this, no one is content to simply lie around and halfheartedly touch themselves, the way they might on a lazy late winter night.

It was skekZok and skekOk who first took center stage, so to speak; the Scroll-Keeper's hips and tail raised, soft gray-green feathers falling beneath skekZok's talons, screeching and clawing the floor. That's enough to set the others off (not that it's ever taken much)...before you know it, skekLi is in skekGra's lap, and skekLach is on top of skekTek, and skekNa is breeding his own tail.

You pour yourself another goblet of wine.

They're looking at you, you know. All the while pretending not to, thinking themselves more discrete than they are, but you live and breathe observation, and you know. They eye you up because you're hard and lean, your feathers bright, but mostly because you're elusive, a little dangerous, and lead a life they don't know where to even begin dreaming of. How could anyone in their right mind live without silk sheets and hot baths every night?

(You don't need their admiration, don't need them to love you. They're silly things, and that's precisely why you're fond of them.)

Your first choice would ordinarily be skekSo, had he not retired early. Your _true_ first choice would be skekSa, but the plan is to track her down after you leave the castle, somewhere out there along the rivers she loves to follow. In all frankness, you have a tendency to gravitate towards whatever Skeksis in the room needs a little something extra, and tonight, none of them do.

You crack another set of legs between your teeth. Spear a sliver of ripe snagglefruit to cut the richness. More wine.

“Mmm, naughty Skeksis, carrying on without offering Hunter herb.”

SkekSil slinks down beside you, smiling in that way he thinks he's charming enough to get away with, and is, a little. He fills your awareness, the glint of gold about his wrists and the unmistakable veil of perfume cascading from his feathers.

Much earlier in the night, someone did in fact offer you herb. You take a roll anyway.

“Courting the wall tonight, skekSil?”

It's a rhetorical question. Most nights, skekSil is the first one on his knees and the last one off to sleep and as far as you're aware, it's a reputation he's quite proud of. If he's sidling up to you, no doubt it has something to do with the fact that the Emperor isn't around.

“Not every day Hunter pays Skeksis a visit. Why would skekSil wait around to lick skekNa's tail clean on a night such as this?”

You snort, softly, your laughter sincere. SkekNa is low hanging fruit, but at least skekSil knows too much idle flattery will get him nowhere with you. Still, you've never been one to dance around the obvious. “Funny. Every time I've paid a visit in the past, you can't be prised from the Emperor's side.”

You expect offense, narrowed eyes, but much to your surprise, he laughs.

“Emperor always gets especially amorous during Hunter's visits. Shameless, even. Can Hunter blame Cantor?”

You snort again. Allow him to light both your rolls of herb at once. You get the soft part of your mouth around the tip, down past your beak to form a seal, and inhale the warmth and sweetness, like a promise of the summer days to come. When you exhale, your smoke and his intermingle, just for a moment.

You make yourself comfortable against the plumped cushions, and make no objection when he does as well.

“Mmm, saw the skull of wild Brododile skekMal brought for dinner. Ornamentalist wants to lay gems along the snout, display in southern hallway.”

“The Ornamentalist can do as he pleases. If I'd cared for the solemn dignity of that particular Brododile, I would have kept it for myself.”

“Is it true that fat and gallbladder are poison? Must be trimmed carefully, or castle will be dead by morning?”

The smoke is making you at ease with life in general. You don't tell him that no, you don't have enough faith in the castle denizens' competence to bring them something that could kill them. “The meat, no. The eggs, yes.”

He hums, tail swishing slowly against the silk and marble. “If Cantor stays here and asks further questions on hunting, will Hunter believe when tell you that really, truly is not just because Cantor wants to be taken by you?”

You regard him, brief but close, and wonder whether to be impressed by his read on you or if you're just truly that transparent. It makes sense for _you_ to be able to sniff everyone out...SkekSil, for a creature whose vocation consists of beautiful music and nothing else, has always had an uneasy affinity for knowing everyone's tics. You wonder why now. You wonder if you're overthinking all of this. If you are, you blame skekSil, who necessitates it.

“By all means. Ask away.”

And so he does. Real questions, too...whether you know of the mountain shaped like a Skeksis's beak (you do) and whether you've ever travelled beyond it (you haven't, but if the Dousan are to be believed, there's a perilous stretch of hills and forest filled with strange things.) What's frightened you the most out there. Whether you still notice the rain, the snow.

“SkekLi talks of travel, telling stories, singing songs. Have thought about it. If someone is to be known for singing and wandering, ought to be me.”

Your eyes wander, before you can catch them, over the thick, soft ruff of blue fur and feather surrounding his neck. You think of biting it.“If it brings you joy to sing, go and sing.”

“Mm, but then again, skekSil's songs are suited for castle. Satirist's, for taverns.”

“Why are you talking yourself out of this? Either do it or don't.”

The pleasant buzz of herb smoke ripples, annoyingly disturbed, and skekSil goes into damage control. “Hunter is right. SkekSil is foolish, and anyway, did not come here to mope.” He rolls over, situates himself between your legs, and licks a trail from the line of your hip to your naked slits. “Talk, please?”

His tongue is soft as swothel cream, dipping from one slit to the other. You run your talons through his plume, and one by one, feel the weight of many eyes lifting up to rest upon you both.

“Talented thing, skekSil. If ever you do find yourself out on the road, off on some poorly tended path? I'd like to catch you from behind. Pin you to the leaves, and pull your robes up high about your waist.” He purrs, soft and encouraging. You feel, then watch yourself begin to harden, right against his waiting tongue. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? Being taken in the dirt, head down, vent up. You're a needy little thing...no matter where you are.”

You've watched skekSil service others with his mouth, of course. You've observed him from across the room, expression rapt and lost to whatever Skeksis he's currently pleasuring, or kneeling between the legs of someone happily restrained. He's actually done it, twice to boot, while you've been servicing skekSo...once while you played with the Emperor's nipples, another time lapping at the tips of his cocks while you took him. Make no mistake, you're well acquainted with skekSil's oral fixation.

But even you're surprised to find _how_ capable he is. SkekSil hasn't been alive for all of five trine, but he licks cock with the practiced skill of an old Podling sowing a field.

(There's absolutely another comparison to made there, and you wish you were less distracted, so you could make it.)

“They're watching us, you know. Everyone in the room is looking at us right now.”

It's only a slight exaggeration. SkekGra is dozing off until skekLach shakes his shoulder. SkekZok is racing to finish the last of whatever sauce laden tidbit he's currently eating. Judging by the way skekSil dives in with renewed vigor, or slips a hand between his legs to adjust his own hardening phalluses, it's enough for him.

For all skekSil's faults, of which there are many, you've no confliction over this. SkekSil, with his sweet scent and carefully maintained appearance, always laying out plans to endear himself to everyone...skekSil who is fun, whose singing voice has always held the power to get a room drumming along on the tables, or send everyone to sleep within minutes. SkekSil, so easy to grow annoyed with, but so hard to dislike.

“I do believe you've done it, skekSil,” skekOk comments. “You've put your mouth on every last Skeksis living on the face of Thra.”

“Except for the Ornamentalist,” skekLach intones dryly.

“Except for the Ornamentalist.”

SkekSil, unphased by this blemish on his record, runs his tongue down deep into the V formed by your erections, steals a quick, but lingering lick of your vent, and traverses back up the other side. Mindful of his talons, his wet fist works your bases, and every now and then, he curls his tongue tight around your tips, pulling up a growl from your throat.

“Is that how you like it? Going to work me over until I spill all over your pretty feathers? Or do I get to breed that vent of yours?” His breath hitches, and his eyes turn up to you, lush green and hopeful. “Oh yes. Don't think I don't smell you, how wet you're growing.”

He cocks his tail high, and you have no way of knowing whether or not it's involuntary. SkekNa, who sits closest, licks his beak and inches hopefully closer, reaching a tentative hand towards skekSil's hindquarters...only to skitter backwards when you turn a low, but pointed hiss his way.

“Mm?” skekSil inquires.

“No. No one touches you but me.”

_That_ gets a groan. You're not the first Skeksis to get snappish and possessive of a breeding partner, but skekSil stops and sits up, beak shining and eyes hazy.

“Please,” he implores. “Please, right here, now. Where everyone can see. Please...”

You brush a stray feather from his temple, dab a streak of wetness from the corner of his beak.

“Ride me, Cantor. I want to take my time with you.”

Keening soft gratitude, he mounts your lap...spreads himself with his talons, more visibly than he needs to, putting on a show for the room as much as you. Whether he wants to make good and sure every Skeksis present knows he's being taken by the Hunter or just taken in general, it's all the same to you. He's tight as he sinks down, thighs shuddering, so very wet, and so very, _very_ warm.

“So good...” he says, barely a whisper.

“Mmm...” you concur, tweaking an already well stiffened nipple. “Should have had you slipping down on me ages ago...”

It's what he wants to hear, but it's also true. What took you this long? You're not one to pursue a partner, not where castle Skeksis are concerned, and skekSil never sought you out before. You rather assumed his fixation on skekSo was something more than he was letting on, or perhaps that he already had all he needed and had no interest in mooning over you, and true enough, you wouldn't have given him a second glance if he hadn't come batting his eyes at you tonight, but to think, you could have been discovering long ago what the rest of the castle already knows – that skekSil the Cantor is as soft and obliging a partner as you'll find.

He chuckles, breathlessly, bracing palms on your chest. “Should have come to Hunter long ago. Knew full well there was a reason Hunter always had others screaming.”

The other Skeksis, now that the danger of being hissed or snapped at has passed, have taken the rare initiative of getting up from their pillows and thoroughly warmed cushions and moving in for a closer seat. Their eyes are hungry, their naked, feathered bodies smelling of incense and herb and their own noisy acts of congress, and you're both reminded why you don't live with them and struck by a feeling of quiet affection for them.

“Speak for yourselves,” chimes in skekOk. “I've never once screamed while being taken by the Hunter.”

“Not for long,” you clarify, mostly for the sake of your own honor. “But, if memory serves, only because our Emperor found something fitting to gag you with.”

He colors violently, and the rest waste no time in cackling at his expense. You've only been with a handful of them, usually in tandem with skekSo, and it's the sort of thing they like – piling on someone who received a special treat the others didn't get to enjoy. But it's mostly good natured. You can't imagine anyone would tolerate it if it weren't.

SkekSil is a lovely sight like this, and a gentle one; sighing and moaning, rising and falling in a slow, leisurely way, like the feeling of you inside him was an option he was running out of time to make happen, and now that he's got it he's all too content to relax and enjoy it. If you're being entirely, privately honesty with yourself, it _is_ a nice change from the scenarios you normally find yourself in – robust scuffles with skekUng, skekGra, skekVar, and skekSa, or vigorous sessions at skekSo's behest. The only one who makes a habit of riding you slowly _is_ skekSo, and then, always alone.

(And one notable time, skekGra. He catches your eye now, and smirks knowingly, but says nothing.)

You can't help but wonder if skekSil gets many lazy, relaxed trysts. You wonder how many of them, if any of them, are private.

He rolls his hips down onto you, and you rock up into him, steady and smooth. You palm his cocks until they leak, and he whimpers.

“Such a pretty thing...”

SkekSil swallows hard as he twitches in your grasp. “What does...what does the Hunter wish of me?”

“I want you to have whatever's going to bring you over hardest. And then, I want you to let me hear your lovely voice.” For emphasis, you flex your cocks inside him, rolling and dragging in a way you hope will knock the breath from his lungs and...oh yes, there it is, lashing tail and all. Exactly the way you like to see.

“Please...do that again?”

“With pleasure.”

Again, and again. SkekSil's rocking becomes markedly less even, and his voice collapses into a brief, but extremely welcome volley of squeaks and yelps. He starts to move more quickly, fucking himself on you without holding back – only to stop, suddenly, and rise off. Before you can question this, he sprawls back on the cushions, hind claws in the air, spreading himself with his talons.

It's all the invitation you need. You plunge deep, so deep, and he wails.

His rich plumage beckons you to bury your face within it, inhaling the scent of him that rests below the perfume, all skin and sweat and the sharp pitch of arousal. Your thrusts are noisy, wet. His talons, all four sets of them, bite into your sides and shoulders.

“ _Harder, please, take this, take me...”_

You picture him the way you saw him last summer, silhouetted by the moonlight pouring through the window, dropping off to sleep to the way his song kissed glass and stone. You growl into his neck, mouthing it, steeped in the feeling of something towards him, but unable to put a name to it.

With secondary arms, you lift his hips. His claws begin to curl in time with the sound of his rising and falling shrieks, and his phalluses drool openly.

You hear the distinctive rustle of the other Skeksis furtively touching themselves, and you're quite sure, one another. How could they not? They can see it all so clearly, how he stretches around you, how you look plunging into him. Something within you, something you're more at peace with than anyone else, calls upon you to snap at them to step back from skekSil and his open, receptive body and the place where you are joined to him, and you only just succeed in soothing it down.

“ _H-Hunter...SkekMal...”_

“You're getting close,” you rasp, not a question. He nods. “I'm going to fill you until you _drip._ ”

“ _Y-yes, please..._ ”

“That's it...”

“ _Fill me, mark me! Yes!_ ”

He begins to clamp down on you. You bite him, hard, on the throat.

You've watched him climax in the same way you've watched just about everyone in this castle climax, and you already know how loud he is. Quite a few Skeksis are, but just the same, a part of you always half-considered whether it was at least in some part an act. But now, as he sobs hopelessly beneath you, there can be no doubt in your mind as to the sincerity of his display. His voices catches every time he clenches and milks you.

You grip him tight as your climax finds you, hot and hard and making your jaws quiver around his neck, but not so deep as to draw blood. Marks left, but skin unbroken. Not everyone enjoys being bled, and even if you suspect skekSil would, you feel the need to be just a little gentle with him. Soft growls to warm his throat, wet down the feathers...let him know how pleased you are with him. How content you are to think that in another life, one where you belong to Thra the way your heart says you do, you'd be filling him with eggs.

You take your time withdrawing from him, licking his ruffled throat, senses full of him. A little tempted to bundle him up, then go out and catch him a bird to eat. You contemplate, very idly, what it will do for your reputation as a bloodthirsty predator the day they all realize that you really are a hopelessly sentimental lay.

“Still living, Cantor?” you ask, testing the inside of your mouth with your tongue and pleasantly surprised to find it free of feathers; no dilemma over whether to spit them out and look foolish or wash them down with wine and swallow them.

He gazes up at you through dizzy green eyes, chest heaving, but not so much that it keeps him from chuckling. “Never, ever better.”

SkekZok helpfully passes you a jug of water, which you in turn give to skekSil. Something warm is trickling down your hips, and you realize that while you've minded your talons, skekSil has either failed to do so or been driven past the point of caring. You double over, slicking them with your tongue, which will do until skekUng wakes in the morning.

You address the throng of voyeurs. “...I trust it was good for you all?”

Not that you care, but it _is_ amusing to watch them disperse. Most of them, you note with some satisfaction, make for the door and the baths beyond, as though in unanimous agreement that this is it – the pinnacle of the night. Time to pack it in.

Perhaps it's intentional, perhaps, not, but skekSil doesn't sit up properly until most of them have funneled out. He watches you polish off another water jug, and it's only then that he clears his throat.

“Would be remiss if did not thank Hunter. This was...nice. Was very nice.”

This strikes you as an odd thing to say, and you cock a brow in his direction. “Do all your partners receive thanks afterwards, or is it just me?”

You're not joking, and he doesn't laugh. “Wish to know the truth?”  
  


“I do.”  
  


“Half-expected you would chase skekSil from side. I am...aware of Hunter's arrangement with Emperor. Was not certain on protocol for nights when Emperor is not present.”

You huff, but suppose he can't be blamed for not knowing. As far as he or anyone else is aware, you come in from the woods, eat, maybe relay information on the outside world, join in the evening fuck social, render the Emperor boneless, and leave. “It seems you know less of our arrangement than you think. If I do anything, it's for my own benefit, or the castle's. If I couple with anyone, it's because I choose to.”

SkekSil blinks. Several times.

“Well, in that case, glad you made decision to couple with me.”

“And I'm rather pleased you came along to proposition me.”

The room is empty save the two of you, and it's that inevitable time of the night when the sweat and smoke on your skin ceases to be fun. The Podlings are peering around the corner, wondering whether they're in the clear to come in and begin mopping and picking up discarded bones, and you're not keen on making conversation with them. You shake out your lush blue feathers and head for the door.

SkekSil rises. Rather than leaving, he lingers near the table – picking over the last of the snacks possibly, or pretending to fiddle with something on the table. It doesn't matter.

You stop in the archway.

“Well? Are you coming?”

“...What? Now?”

“I'm going to clean up and then settle in with the others. Perhaps near the Emperor, or nowhere near him. So come join me if you're joining me.”

And slowly, skekSil smiles. A hopeful smile, not quite incredulous, but some shade of it to be certain.

In trine to come, you'll very much doubt he even remembers how to smile that way.

You'll think about it now and then, when the weather turns warm.


End file.
